


At Ambrosini's Christmas Party

by diemme



Series: The Courtship of Sandro and Zlatan [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3072899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemme/pseuds/diemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zlatan copes with silliness and his attraction to Sandro at Ambro's party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Ambrosini's Christmas Party

**Author's Note:**

> It's all fictional and not meant to imply anything about anyone's sexuality. I own nothing.

In Ambrosini's back garden:

“If,” the voice was warm and rich as good brandy and usually twice as potent, “you think this is what it looks like, I’ll kick your shins.”

The usual effect of Nesta’s voice and glower on Zlatan was muted a bit by Aquilani and Mexes draped over the defender, wriggling and yapping like happy puppies. Aquilani clutched a half full bottle and Mexes nuzzled into Nesta’s neck, clearly in the “love you, man” stage of intoxication. Nesta, trying to keep the pair from falling over, was just as clearly in the “ten seconds from strangling” stage of exasperation.

“Oh, I wouldn’t presume to thi…,” Zlatan’s sentence and grin were suppressed by Aquilani ‘s glad cry of welcome and Aquilani himself. The midfielder launched himself at the Swede, the contents of the bottle lurching dangerously. Zlatan caught a whiff of peppermint liqueur, frowned and extended an arm, restoring an acceptable degree of personal space. Mexes displayed his pleasure at having Nesta all to himself with a full body hug and hip wriggle. Nesta’s eyes rolled skyward, Zlatan’s narrowed to slits as he reached for Mexes’ neck.

A bit later: 

“They’ll feel awful tomorrow,” Nesta’s pleasure was evident, both at the probable hangover and the brandy Zlatan was pouring. Mexes and Aquilani had been marched, whining, into the house; necks firmly gripped by Zlatan’s large hands and turned over to Ambrosini. Ambrosini had tossed them into a spare bedroom with enough pillows and blankets to build a fort. “Well handled.”

“The direct approach hasn’t steered me wrong yet,” Zlatan proffered the brandy. His fingers tingled where they’d brushed against Nesta’s. “You complicate things for…” Nesta smiled as though he’d just provided the perfect assist and Zlatan figuratively threw up his hands and took his own advice.

“So, Sandro, is it _ever_ what it looks like?”


End file.
